


a lasting love (a first time)

by Mnojick



Category: Original Work
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-13 12:11:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21494095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mnojick/pseuds/Mnojick





	a lasting love (a first time)

John's just come back from an emergency medicine conference. Him going back to surgery has been

No, it really happened. John can still hear Sherlock’s voice, broken and ragged and out of breath. He vividly remembers how fiercely he came after hearing the words, unable to believe what Sherlock had said. Everything they did last night was fucking incredible. John lifts his hand to his nose and smells his fingers. He finds the scent of Sherlock there, slightly muskier and headier than usual, but, after all, nothing but Sherlock. 

He watches Sherlock return from Rosie’s room upstairs, his fluffy curls all ruffled and his pale cheeks a soft pale pink. God, he loves him. 

“What?” Sherlock asks, noticing John’s staring.

“Nothing. You’re just adorable. That’s all.” 

Sherlock’s cheeks turn a bright pink this time. 

“Absolutely adorable,” John adds, grinning broadly.

He gets out of his chair just in time for Sherlock to practically leap into his arms. "I'll make us some tea and meet you in the bedroom." Sherlock says. John reluctantly releases him.

John has no intention of letting Sherlock make tea alone however. He comes up behind him and puts a strong arm around Sherlock's waist, he head nuzzling the detective's thin pale neck, kissing his nape and gently ruts against his juicy ass. Sherlock facing the sink dips his curly head low, his hands grab at the edge, feeling John's arousal get the best of him.

“John, stop please” begs Sherlock with a distinct highness in his voice that reveals his own neediness.

“I love you so much” the soldier answers simply, pressing his body even closer to Sherlock's.

"At least -ah - let me finish -- your tea -" whines Sherlock. It is all he can manage when his John keeps kissing him just behind the ear, triggering and immediate response all over his body.

"Hmm. I'll think about it," is all that John

Unconsciously, John’s voice took on a different accent, a coarser, deeper register, as he mimicked his father’s threats.

“I was saying ... get ready to be cold again for awhile.” With that I climb on top of him, lower my head to cover his mouth with mine, and delicately lick along the underside of his top lip, then suck it into my mouth. I cannot _ account _ for the effects that kissing John’s mouth provokes in me, every time. It’s as though a kind of warm, liquid gold shoots up along my nervous system, and I can’t get enough of it, I chase that sensation as I taste his tongue, the inside of his cheek, his lower lip. I could do this all night.

But I have plans. John grunts a protest as I throw the covers off us and climb off of him, taking away all the warmth we’ve banked. “Hush.” I grab two pillows and place them just about where I need them, then manhandle John onto his front, his hips and arse elevated nicely. He’s wriggling and protesting a bit:

“Sherlock, what—?” But I’m not having it, I’d given him fair warning. “Shhh. Trust me.”

He next words show he isn’t really diffident, just embarrassed. “But what if—”

He can’t finish the sentence, apparently. 

“Hush. You’re _ sparkling _clean. Now stop talking.” Hardly my most seductive lines, but just the sight of John in that position has me so delirious I can barely get any words out at all.

I kneel behind him on the bed and begin running my hands slowly up and down his thighs, going higher each time until my thumbs are resting at the juncture of muscled leg and lush arse. He is so beautiful, his bollocks compressed between his legs, round and sweet as his buttocks, and I stare a moment before lowering my face to lip softly at his pale skin stippled with gooseflesh. I smell a blend of my soap and his own scent, with an overlay of musky arousal.

With my thumbs I part his buttocks just enough to make room for my tongue, then lick lightly up along the taut perineum. I hover a moment, then begin to dot faint touches around and then on his gorgeous—eager—arsehole. His gasp reminds me of what this would feel like, did feel like, and I know how hungry for it he is by how he pushes back against me for more sensation, more pressure. 

Now he’s moving smoothly beneath me, back and forth, chasing stimulation to his cock to go along with what I was doing behind him. If I had a hand free I’d slip it under his hip to lightly tease his cock. Instead I slide my tongue back down to his bollocks, growing hard and tight, and nose and tongue at them as John groans unabashedly and grabs the pillow under his head.

“I need you to do something for me. Put your hand on your cock.”

Before I’ve finished speaking he’s thrust his hand down to his cock and begun to stroke. Too hard, too fast. I grab his hand. “Slow down. Ease up. We’re taking our time, tonight.”

John’s sounds are captivating: desperate, ecstatic, frustrated, desirous. We do this together, with me first dipping my tongue into him, then thrusting, kissing and sucking his hole as I had just been doing to his mouth. Then I’m making sometimes regular and sometimes syncopated, unpredictable plunges with my tongue into him and John _ wails _ as I groan. At this rate we’ll both climax, though, and that wasn’t what I’ve got planned.

I begin to rein in the frenzy of my movements. I seize John’s hand and remove it from his cock, at which point he moans in desperate disapproval.

“Hush, love. Trust me.” And I straighten up and bring my own cock, desperately eager for friction, up into the cleft of his arse, caressing him and, I think, reassuring him. But he freezes, very palpably.

“Shhhh. Relax. Not that. Not you, at least.” At this John, with some effort, glances around confused and looks his question.

“That’s right. Not you. Me.” Still panting, I lean back on my heels and reach again for the lubricant. Now that the thrashing and the distracting sensations had stopped we’re both cold, so I shift the pillows and John, and pull the bedclothes over us. Soothing lube over his cock, the skin there taut and shiny over his erection. I kiss his temples and his cheeks, and murmur,

“Can you get me ready?” 

Again, not the sexiest line, but we’re too far gone to worry about how things _ sound_.

John’s voice is a bit strangled as he asks, “Have you done this before?”

“No.” I can feel him exhale, and hope it’s relief, not trepidation.

“Me neither. I don’t want to hurt you. I’m not ... small.” John's not boasting; he _ isn’t _ small. My mouth fills at the thought of him even though I know it will take some preparation and adjustment before it feels good. I can’t resist stroking him again, the slick lube making it even better so that he’s quickly panting.

  
“Oh Sherlock” is all that John manages to say when his partner’s kisses him just behind the ear triggering an immediate response from all his body

He shivers from excitation, and Sherlock continues covering his neck, and the top of his shoulder with soft, almost imperceptible kisses. One of Sherlock’s hand traveled down on John’s jeans, caressing his crotch above the fabric. It is sweet, divine torture, and John’s body is burning with lust. If it wasn’t for his daughter in the living-room, he would probably just fuck Sherlock right here and now. Or probably be fucked judging by the growing bulge in Sherlock’s pants John is feeling brushing against his arse. Sherlock is now taking John’s shirt off, button after button, he lets his hands explore his boyfriend’s chest in process. Once John’s shirt is fully open, Sherlock takes it off his shoulders and John turns around to be facing his fiancé.

“I love you” he murmurs kissing his boyfriend on the mouth  
“I love you too” answers the detective “More than I’m letting you believe”  
“I know Sherlock” replies John “And you don’t have to prove it to me”  
“But you’re proving your love for me every single day. Letting me in your and Rosie’s life”  
“We are family. And for the record, you were already family long before I got married with Mary”  
“I had no idea…”  
“You better than anyone should have picked up the clues. But in the end, what matters is that we’re finally together”  
“Yes” whispers Sherlock “And that I’m going to fuck you in our kitchen”  
“Not until I put Rosie to bed. I’m not living that dangerously”  
“Do it fast then” answers Sherlock “Please”

Sherlocking is already removing his shirt as John rushes into the living room to grab his daughter and put her into her bed. She is a bit reluctant, but John gives her no other choice than going to bed. Although he is eager to join Sherlock downstairs, he stills takes time to change his daughter, put her in her pajam, and read her a short story. The little girl is exhausted by her day and she drifts into sleep as soon as her father closes the door. He rushes back downstairs to find his boyfriend finishing the dishes, completely naked. His cock, thick and hard is waiting for John’s return.

“Mmmh Sherlock this is a delight to watch” says John  
“And it will be even more delicious once I’m inside you”

John smiles and finishes removing his clothes. He joins Sherlock, and they kiss each other, their bodies brushing against one another, their cocks meeting and joining during their embrace. John’s hand are exploring the hairless chest of his partner, arousing his nipples, and tracing down the fine hairline down his stomach and onto his cock. John gets down on his knees and kisses Sherlock’s long dick. The detective leans against the sink, and grabs John’s head. Contrary to his partner, John has short hair, and Sherlock can not stick his fingers into the curls. Instead he has one hand on each side of his head, and he accompanies John’s movement. He does not rush or force him, knowing that the thickness of his penis is a constraint for John. The doctor grabs Sherlock’s buttcheeks with both his hands and he starts sucking his boyfriend dick. He can not take its full length in his mouth, and Sherlock knows that, not pressuring him to do so. His grasp makes itself tighter on Sherlock’s arse, and the detective exhales with a moan of contentment. John stops sucking after a few minutes, to give Sherlock the occasion to fuck him, and he stands up, kissing his boyfriend once more. This time it is Sherlock who lets his hands slide down on his partner’s body. He knows exactly what he wants and loses absolutely no time aiming for John’s arse. He wants his boyfriend open and ready to welcome him as soon as possible and he intends to fuck him raw and hard. He inserts one finger and hears John scream from surprise. Watson has his hands roaming freely on Sherlock’s body, exploring and caressing all the sensitive parts he learned to know. The bottom of his back, his jawline, around his nipples, his testicles… John has a mental map of his fiancé’s arousal zone and he uses it at his own advantage, forcing Sherlock to stop and refrain from moaning every time John touches him. Sherlock puts forward a second finger, opening John’s arsehole larger, and accustoming it to penetration.

“Give me that chair” says Sherlock “You’re going to ride my cock today…”

John gives him the chair, and Sherlock sits on it, determined to get pleased by his boyfriend. John sits on his lap, not on his cock for now, and they resume kissing passionately. Sherlock lets his mouth wander around on John’s body, going onto his nipples and biting them gently. John’s whole body reacts by arching and the man lets a loud groan escape

“Oh Sherlock” he says  
“I know your weak spots just as much as you know mine” replies the detective smiling

John chuckles, and carefully he stands up, to sit on his boyfriend’s impatient cock. He puts his arms around Sherlock’s neck, and his partner holds his cock still, John burying it deeper and deeper inside of him. John tilts his head backwards to mask his pain, but Sherlock grabs his chin with his free hand and forces him to meet his gaze

“Look at me, Sherlock, he orders softly. “Please” he adds in a low desirous voice.

It is still painful for Sherlock to receive Sherlock’s cock in him because the man is incredibly thick and long. But then most of the men and women John had sex with could not accommodate him the same way as his beautiful Sherlock is . A tear appears at the corner of Sherlock's eye and Sherlock says

“It’s enough. Don’t go further”

Comforted by his partner’s guidance, John takes a few seconds to appreciate the mixed feelings of pain and pleasure that are overwhelming him. As soon as he moves just an inch to feel more comfortable, a wave of pleasure rocks his whole body and he muffles a scream by burying his head in Sherlock’s neck. Even the slightest movement sends pleasure directly to his brain, and it is the same for Sherlock. John is really tight around his cock, and each time one of them moves even the slightest, it is a pure bliss for both of them. Sherlock thrust his cock back and forth a few time, and he knows he won’t last for long given the tightness of John’s arse. He puts a hand on John’s cock until then bouncing in rhythm with their combined movements and he strokes it. John rides Sherlock cock, leaning on him, and moving his hips, moaning every now and then. Sherlock never stops stroking his cock, and sensations are overwhelming John. He is completely addicted to this pleasure, and he doesn’t stop moving on Sherlock’s cock, boosting his own pleasure with this contact. At one point, Sherlock grabs him by the hips, and he fucks him hard and quick, with powerful back-and-forth movements from his hips. Their bodies are burning with so much lust and pleasure that small drops of sweat are rolling down their back, making them shiver. Every now and then, their lips find their way to each other’s and they kiss violently, passionately, surrendering to the immense pleasure they are both feeling.

“I’m going to come” says John gasping for air

Sherlock smiles and intensifies the movement of his hand on John’s cock. With his other hands he goes below it, and starts massaging John’s balls. The doctor moans, not expecting to feel so whole and excited.

“Aah… Aaah… AAAH SHERLOCK !” he screams as a huge load of sperm lands on Sherlock’s stomach, chest and hand

The detective wasn’t expecting so much, but thinking thoroughly, it was a few weeks they hadn’t had proper sex, too busy with the wedding, and too tired by work. With a grin, Sherlock licks the semen off of his finger, but as he was about to lick the last one, John stops him, and their tongue reach for the sperm together, sliding up and down Sherlock’s finger in a romantic dance.

“I could get used to that” confesses John licking his lips for the last drop of semen on it  
“Believe me, I intend to cum down your throat one day, when you’re ready, and you’re going to love it”  
“Is that a deduction, or an assertion ?”  
“Both” answers Sherlock taking John by surprise pushing himself deep inside of him

He has not reached his release yet, but he feels really close to it, and with a few thrusts, his cock explodes inside of John’s arse. He fires a big thick load, and has a hard time catching his breath from this the most satisfying orgasm he's ever had in his life. His whole body is shaking, and John is still covering his chest with soft kisses. After a few minutes he says :

“I should withdraw now. Even though it feels like heaven inside of you”  
“I don’t want your cock to ever leave my arse again” whispers John  
“I have to though…”  
“I know”

With a resigned sigh and sharp pained gasp, Sherlock stands up slowly, withdrawing his lover's cock from deep inside of himself. John reaches for him to let and grabs him back to sit on his lap, his cock still half hard, butting up against the small of Sherlock's back and ass as he rests against John's broad chest. "You ready for a second round?" John asks huskily.

Sherlock is about to protest when they both hear Rosie screaming on the baby monitor."

"Sherlock giggles. "I guess we woke her up."

"I guess we did," John

"You relax, lovely. I'll go take care of Rosie."

With a resigned sigh John stands up slowly, withdrawing his partner’s cock from inside of him. He sits back on his lap, the softening cock of the detective brushing against his balls… He is about to say that he is ready for a second round when they both hear some noise coming from upstairs.

“Aaargh” barks John already jumping into his briefs “I guess we woke her up…”  
“I’m hitting the shower. Join me when you’re done…”

With a smirk and a wink, Sherlock makes his way to the bathroom as John rushes upstairs, hopping into his underwear, to comfort his crying awake daughter.

John slipped his fingers under the waistband of Sherlock's pants and pulled, ever so slightly, until the tip of Sherlock's penis was exposed. Both men inhaled sharply, then met each other's eyes. John pulled down some more, until Sherlock's pants were around his upper thighs.

“Dear god, Sherlock. How the hell have you been hiding this?” Sherlock was huge, long and thick, the head of him flushed and curved and soft, and John thought about perfect tulip petals and snapdragons and orchids, so much silky, decadent eroticism.

Sherlock smiled, his mouth saying _shy_ but his eyes saying _delighted_, and said, “You just didn't notice.”

“Well, I'm noticing now.” He lowered his hand to Sherlock and ran one finger over the weeping slit, smearing the pre-come resting there. Sherlock groaned and arched his neck, sending John back for more. He brushed his fingers up and down the length of Sherlock's shaft, stopping to rub his thumb against the tip every few times. Sherlock was getting bigger, if that was possible, and John felt a quickening in his gut, then an uncontainable giggle.

“What's so funny?”

“My first man, and he's a fucking porn star.”

A red blush creeped across Sherlock's face, then down his neck and across his chest.

“Am I?”

“What? My first man, or a porn star?”

“Your first man?”

“Yeah. Yeah, of course you are.”

“Is it very different?”

“Yeah. But more than being my first man, you're you, you know? You’re my first Sherlock, and that's what makes this so special. No other man could be the one I'm with now. I wouldn't want this with any other man.”

John had been gently stroking Sherlock while he talked, but he stopped now, and lowered his head between Sherlock's spread thighs. Sherlock watched, rapt, not sure which was more arousing – watching John, or feeling John doing what he was doing. Both, he decided. Both was best. John's lips opened over the head of Sherlock's cock, and sucked the perfect curve of it into his mouth and against his tongue.

“Sweet mother of god, John.”

John hummed in response, taking in a bit more of Sherlock, and then a bit more. He cupped Sherlock's balls in one hand, eliciting another religious exaltation from Sherlock. John was careful to not set a rhythm yet, but to wander up and down Sherlock's cock, licking here, kissing there, stroking and fondling in a seemingly random way that left Sherlock guessing and wanting more.

Sherlock spread his legs further, pulling his knees up, and John settled in more comfortably, flat on his belly between those wanton thighs, utterly focused on his administrations to Sherlock.

“Wait... John, wait.”

“Mmm?”

“I'm supposed to be worshiping you in this bed. I'm looking down and it's like you're supplanted at the altar of my cock, and while I love it, and don't want you to stop, I'm... I'm not... doing anything for you.”

“Sherlock. For the last time, stop overthinking this. We've been at this for, what, twenty minutes? I'm enjoying myself, and you're enjoying yourself, and who knows where we'll be in another ten minutes.”

“I'm going to be having an out of body experience, screaming your name in about another thirty seconds.”

“Well, that's certainly an image.”

He pulled himself up to Sherlock's mouth and kissed him, hard, fingers continuing where his mouth had left off. Sherlock ran his hands up and down John's sides, his arms, his back, down to the swell of his ass and his hips. He turned so that they were facing each other on their sides, then pulled John's hips against his own.

“John, why are your pants still on?”

John laughed and tucked his nose up under Sherlock's chin. “I don't know, why are they?”

Sherlock reached down and tugged them off, then pushed at his own, still riding around his thighs. He inched them down with shaking fingers and flung them down to the bottom of the bed. It was his turn to take a good, long look at John, and the grin that lit up his face told John everything he needed to know. Sherlock definitely saw something he liked.

“Better. Naked, totally naked. I like this. You should be naked all the time, John,” Sherlock said, gently caressing John’s hip.

“That could be a bit awkward should I ever want to leave the flat again.”

“Oh, did I not tell you? You're never leaving this bed, ever. You're just going to stay here, naked, all the time.”

“I see. Will you bring me food?”

“Yes. Bread and wine. That's all you get.”

John moaned helplessly, hips bucking into the air. His cock jutted out proudly between his thighs, flushed red and thick. He had two fingers sunk deep into his arse, prodding rather mercilessly at his own prostate and causing his cock to drizzle copiously down its own length. John exhaled gustily with pleasure when his fingers slid free of his arse. God, it felt amazing to touch himself there. Although... Sherlock's fingers were longer and thicker and generally more satisfying, and the detective had an _ insatiable _ lust for rimming.

_ Wait for it _.

The door was closed but not locked. A shadow fell across the splinter of light underneath the door. _ Speak of the devil. _

John smirked mischievously. _ Never could resist a closed door_, _ could you? _

The shadow hovered there for a moment. There was the rustle of clothing. Then the door opened. Sherlock – naked as the day he was born – entered the room and closed the door again. John pulled at his cock with a shaking hand while thrusting his hips down in abortive little motions onto his own fingers. Sherlock leaned against the door jamb and stared. His expression was morbidly focused. John reveled in the attention.

A frisson of electricity rippled through John's belly, cock, and thighs. He sunk his teeth into his lip to prevent an undignified noise from escaping. He let his lubed fingers slide free of his arse to drag them up the heavy weight of his bollocks and then up the steep jut of his cock. Sherlock began to step forward, and John forced pleasure aside long enough to level a look at the detective that had him wetting his lips in anticipation.

Sherlock's cock was hard and tight against his belly where it speared out of a startlingly dark thatch of pubic hair. John had always found that contrast between white skin and dark hair incredibly erotic. He gazed unashamedly at Sherlock, who accepted the study with a slight flush and preen. John dragged his free hand slowly up his cock. John had small hands, but a large cock. He knew that the size discrepancy between his fingers and the considerable girth around which they curled was, essentially, pornographic.

Sherlock's mouth dropped open. His lashes dipped low. “Oh, for god's sake...” he said weakly, breaking their silence.

<< Get over here and _ fuck me into the mattress_. >> John commanded, slipping into French. His body was desperate for more penetration and Sherlock's pretty cock was what he wanted. << It's about time. >>

John worried that his mad lover might be having an aneurysm. Sherlock seemed to forget how to breathe and became coltishly overexcited, huffing under his breath and staring at John like he could hardly believe what John had just said. Apparently he had to confirm in _ English _. “John?” he whispered.

John growled without heat, feeling empty. _ Did you forget what the verb “enculer” means? _“Yes, Sherlock?”

“Did you just ask me to – ah, to -”

“Fuck. Me. Senseless. Yes.” John gritted, jacking his cock with rather more force than was advisable to make a point.

Sherlock's expression flickered. “I thought... I thought you preferred to be the giving partner,” he said delicately. His tongue darted out to pet his lower lip.

John wondered, once again, what idiotic past lover of Sherlock's had taught the detective that the roles of penetrator and the penetrated in anal sex were fixed. The doctor found both to be delightful depending upon his mood, and he was currently in the mood to be rogered through the mattress. There were many preconceived notions someone had taught Sherlock about sex that John was tirelessly working toward erasing.

The pumping of his hand slowed.

“You great beautiful git. I want both, I want it _ all _. I want your cock inside m-OOF!”

Sherlock pounced on him, and in his puppyish enthusiasm ended up thumping onto John's chest. And Sherlock, though thin, was _ not _ a small man. John immediately began to piston his hips up, rubbing the head of his cock against Sherlock's tight flat belly and painting it with a stripe of pre-ejaculate. He gripped Sherlock's hips and held the detective still so that he might rut against him; Sherlock cried out and held himself immobile, allowing himself to be used in that way. Both of them reveled in it. John surged up to kiss Sherlock. It was wet and sloppy and filthy.

Orgasm threatened on the periphery. John slowed his hips. Sherlock's cock was drooling on John's thigh, twitching and blushing plum. “S-Sherlock, please. Now.”

John, calling upon flexibility he didn't know he had, drew his legs up and hooked them over Sherlock's shoulders. He was beyond ready. The detective allowed himself to be hauled down, closer to John. Sherlock's cock slotted against his perineum. The pressure was light and pleasant. Different. Sherlock nudged his cockhead against the slick ring of John's arse. Sherlock, bless him, was trying to be careful. But John was no blushing maiden.

The brunet's cock dipped into John and the doctor hummed in encouragement. John, having enjoyed this experience plenty in the past, remembered to keep his breathing even and slow. Sherlock inched forward, splitting John open incrementally until dark curls pressed against the globes of John's arse, fully seated. John felt keenly aware of his own body. Sexy, and _ present _. There was no past, or what might happen five minutes from then – just that exact moment, with Sherlock's lovely cock sunk deep inside him.

“Fuck, yes, that's it,” panted John.

“_Mon dieu.” _

Sherlock's low groan of pleasure trailed into silence: eyes closed, mouth open in a silent 'o' of pleasure. His face was scant inches from John's. This close John could see the latticework of the detective's eyelashes and the gleam of ambient light on the edge of an _ improbable _ zygomatic arch. John licked Sherlock's lip. He made no move to kiss. He just wanted to feel those plush lips under his tongue. Sherlock's eyes fluttered open and he looked down at John. John grinned up at him. Sherlock smiled.

Then Sherlock drew out and rather snappily plunged back in – by sheer delightful coincidence ramming into John's prostate. _ HOLY – WAS THAT INTENTIONAL OH GOD YES YES YES _, thought John. But then Sherlock's knee skidded on the sheet and the next series of thrusts, though pleasant and filling, weren't quite on target. John didn't care. He loved the feeling of being filled up by Sherlock, the awed little breaths Sherlock took in and the way the muscles of Sherlock's shoulders flexed under his knees, how his abdominal muscles clenched and trembled with effort. John lived for the way Sherlock looked down at him, the way he would at a particularly unexpected murder.

<< You beautiful, wild thing, >> John gasped out, steering their lingual play du jour back to German because really _ someone _should be trying for consistency, here, and gripping the back of Sherlock's neck with one hand. He threaded the fingers of his other hand through the wild mass of dark curls bouncing above him. John deliberately clenched his internal muscles when Sherlock withdrew from his body, milking the detective assertively and discouraging the exodus of cock. Sherlock was whispering aborted, worshipfully broken little sentences between desperate gulps of air. << I love your cock inside me – feels so good, so full - >>

Sherlock's orgasm crested. His voice did that thing John loved where it fell several octaves and came out like a rumble of distant thunder. It was a subsonic hum of undiluted masculine pleasure.

“OH,_ JOHN _ -!”

Sherlock's cock was steel. The heat and slick was too much to feel the spill of Sherlock's pleasure precisely, but John moaned decadently at the pronounced flex of Sherlock's cock inside him. John's cock pulsed sympathetically, iron-hard against his belly and for a moment he was certain that he had come. But, he hadn't. Sherlock's arms trembled as adrenaline receded. John foresaw a collapse and hastily unwound his legs from Sherlock's shoulders. He winced. A yogi Watson was _ not _ and he already felt it in his strained knees. It was worth it, though. Sherlock did collapse, then, sandwiching John's weeping cock between their bellies and snuffling his face into the space between John's neck and the pillow.

John turned to plant a sloppy kiss in Sherlock's hair. _ I think an errant gust of wind would make me come at this point_. _ God, he's beautiful. _ Sherlock was still seated inside John. John could feel his cock twitching as he came down. Sherlock shifted and a big palm skated up John's hip. Before Sherlock could take him in hand and pull him over the edge, John caught his wrist and drew it up to his lips. He nipped.

<< Lay back, >> he said, still in German. Sherlock unsheathed himself with a wet sound, and John's hips rolled instinctively at the loss of fullness. The blogger could feel Sherlock's wet pleasure inside him and he tightened his muscles to keep it inside. Sherlock scooted over. He lifted his head to watch as John sat up and fished for the lube. He slicked his own cock. John patted Sherlock's flank.

“My turn,” said John lightly, smiling down at Sherlock who was slipping into a postcoital haze. “On your back, I want to see your face while I _ fuck _ you.”

His voice sounding small and vulnerable.

“Don’t worry about that,” He laughs, likely clocking my slightly raised eyebrows. “To be expected. Obviously,” I wasn’t worried, actually. Intrigued, I think, is the word. I’m no stranger to arousal, but it hasn’t been what I’d call a frequent occurrence in my life. More frequent in the years I’ve known John, however. And the sight of him like this is having quite an effect. I slowly step out of my pants, eyes locked on his. He breaks our gaze to scan my body. I watch as he registers my own erection, a small smile appearing on his face. “Oh,” He says.

We step into the steaming spray together, hands immediately roaming over heated skin. His fingers cup my neck, glide up through my wet curls. I run my palms down his arms, snake them around to his lower back. In a moment of uncharacteristic daring—fuelled by unprecedented lust—I slide them down, down and roughly squeeze his arse, pulling him abruptly toward me. When our erections brush, a fog of arousal consumes me in a way that I wouldn’t have guessed possible. John moans, whispers a string of profanities under his breath. I’m not sure where to go from here. I want to touch him, I think. Are we going to do this, then? I suppose that’s up to me. My heart is racing, bursting, boiling over with emotion and unfamiliar desire. Emboldened by the memory of his words from last week _ (you don’t have to hesitate, with me) _ I take a slight step back, reach down and wrap my fingers around his shaft. He gasps at the contact, looks up at me with wide eyes as I begin to firmly stroke.

“Oh my _ God,” _ John breathes, hands coming up to grab at my shoulders for stability. His head drops down, watching my hand on him, pulling him swiftly to a state of bliss. He leans forward, panting heavily against my chest—I can feel that he’s already close to orgasm as my fingers glide rapidly up and down. Seeing him like this is setting my gut on fire, cock throbbing and skin buzzing—something new and exciting blossoming behind my ribcage. When he ejaculates, it’s with a strangled shout, erupting over my fingers and collapsing against my chest. I wrap my arms around his body, kiss the top of his head.

After a long moment, he pulls back, looks up at me. “Can I?” He asks. Oh, God. I nod slowly, feeling suddenly hesitant at the thought of another human being’s hands on me like this. But it’s John, and I trust him. I want this for us—I really do. He grabs a bottle of shampoo off the shelf, applies some to his palm, then reaches down. His grip is light, eyes on my face—watching for signs of protest. Always such concern for my wellbeing. I’d been holding my breath and when he begins a slow, languid stroke, I let it all out in a dramatic sigh. I feel completely raw, exposed to his touch—like each of my nerves has been flicked on, lit up. Heart thundering in my chest, blood swimming with lust and an overwhelming affection, pleasure coiling dangerously within me. Sounds escape my mouth that I hadn’t known I was capable of—my arms have found their way around John’s neck, cheek pressed against his as I pant and moan into his ear. I shout when I come, voice echoing through the tiled walls that surround us. John pulls our bodies flush together, holds on to me as I come down from this new kind of high—his arms keeping me anchored while my head’s in the sky.

  
The morning started out different from most. 

Sherlock froze. He had just been awoken from 

Sherlock grunted, his brow knitting together as he began to pant, the mask growing foggy from his hot breath. His chest began to heave, and John stood as Sherlock began to wake up, tears flowing from his eyes. He let out a broken sob, and John gripped onto his hand, awkwardly hovering over the bed. 

“I’m right here,” John repeated himself. “You’re safe, Sherlock, you’re safe.” He reached out to brush his hair back again, but Sherlock’s hand met John’s wrist, his grey eyes wide in fear. John stared back at him, eyes wide as well. The grip on his hand was strong, and John felt himself wince as Sherlock began to twist his wrist away. No words came out of the detective’s mouth. 

“John?” he gasped. “No, god, John, please be here.” He dropped to his knees and shook John's shoulders. John's body moved like a ragdoll under his hands.

“Obviously John, it was unexpected though. You constantly surprise me. Your touch alone makes ordinary things extraordinary. You’re quite remarkable John.” Sherlock managed to lift his head up to kiss John softly, “Just give me a few minutes.”

“It’s okay love. Sleep if you want.” Sherlock might have wished to doze off but he didn’t let himself. When he was able to move he curled up against John and reached his slicked hand down. Moving soft at first Sherlock began to slowly caress and tease John until John had slowly worked himself up to a fast hard rhythm. When John was close Sherlock moved and kissed the doctor hard so when he came Sherlock’s mouth was on his, muffling his cries and tasting John’s ecstasy. John couldn’t move afterward so Sherlock did the tidying this time and tucked them both in. “I love you.” mumbled John, his eyes closed.

“I’m glad. Sleep John.” Sherlock spooned up behind John and held onto him. John fell asleep feeling like a gigantic plush toy that was being hugged in half. Sherlock managed to wind himself all around John, holding him securely to him and soon he was snoring loudly into the back of John’s head. Both men were happy.

“Obviously John, it was unexpected though. You constantly surprise me. Your touch alone makes ordinary things extraordinary. You’re quite remarkable John.” Sherlock managed to lift his head up to kiss John softly, “Just give me a few minutes.”

“It’s okay love. Sleep if you want.” Sherlock might have wished to doze off but he didn’t let himself. When he was able to move he curled up against John and reached his slicked hand down. Moving soft at first Sherlock began to slowly caress and tease John until John had slowly worked himself up to a fast hard rhythm. When John was close Sherlock moved and kissed the doctor hard so when he came Sherlock’s mouth was on his, muffling his cries and tasting John’s ecstasy. John couldn’t move afterward so Sherlock did the tidying this time and tucked them both in. “I love you.” mumbled John, his eyes closed.

“I’m glad. Sleep John.” Sherlock spooned up behind John and held onto him. John fell asleep feeling like a gigantic plush toy that was being hugged in half. Sherlock managed to wind himself all around John, holding him securely to him and soon he was snoring loudly into the back of John’s head. Both men were happy.


End file.
